


The Children

by higgsburied



Series: RPs with Jena [2]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, everyone is young in this, sort of a prequel to the other one??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/higgsburied/pseuds/higgsburied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson and his brother like to find adventure. Sometimes, they find too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Children

Wilber and Wilson Higgsbury were brothers who did everything together, situation allowing. Wilber, at this time, was seven years old; Wilson, being older, was ten. And Wilber, less secure and confident, always looked up to his brother. The two enjoyed nothing more than exploring the forest behind their large family home in the country. They were wealthy, and had everything they could have ever wanted.

Wilber was walking home from school alone. He caught Wilson’s outline under the large willow tree they always met under after school, and smiled. For as long as Wilber had been old enough to attend school, they’d been walking home together.

Wilson smiled at his younger brother, walking away from the tree to stand beside him. They started to walk together. Wilson held a book in one hand, a satchel thrown over one shoulder. "How was your day?" he asked, voice soft.

"It was okay today,” Wilber said. “I mean, it's usually bad but… Today, it was okay." He kicked a rock, watching it fly down the path. He looked up at Wilson. "How was yours?"

"Oh, it was fine, I suppose," Wilson replied, absent-minded. "I'm sure someone said something nasty or other, but I wasn't really paying attention. I had an idea for an experiment..." he opened his notebook as they walked, flipping through it to an ear-marked page. He handed it to his brother for him to look at.

Wilber took the notebook, trying to read as he walked. "What do you need for this? I’m sure I can get it!"

"Well," Wilson began, pressing a finger to his lips in thought. "Dark petals, that's for sure...I don't know, I'll need to do some more prototyping."

"I can get some for you while you distract Mum and Dad with that show you’re obsessed with,” Wilber offered, teasing slightly. “Who was it about, again? Harry…Zucchini?"

Wilber smirked as Wilson blushed, entire face going red. "Houdini, actually. And I'm not obsessed, M-magic just," he scratched the back of his head, nervous. "Fascinates me."

Wilber shook his head. "I can ask Winona if she's seen any of these around her house. I know her cousins Abigail and Wendy are good at finding all kinds of weird stuff!"

"Yes, yes, that should work," Wilson mused. His heart skipped a beat, hiding some of his less-relevant notes by folding them over.

Wilber smiled, completely unaware of his brother’s embarrassment. He loved helping his Wilson with his experiments. "Mama said we may have a little sibling coming," he announced, changing the subject.

"Oh, really?" Wilson's eyes lit up. "That'll make you a middle child. Are you ready for that kind of responsibility?"

“It means I’ll get to be a big brother like you!" He said, smiling widely. He seemed excited by the prospect.

Wilson smiled softly back at him. "Are you hoping for a younger brother or younger sister?"

“I think I'd want... a sister!” he swung his hands as he walked, thinking about it. “Mum would have someone to spend time with, then..." his voice grew a little sad. Their parents were always so busy. Usually the children were kept company by each other and the nanny.

"Ah, yes," Wilson hummed, oblivious to his brother’s sadness. "It would be nice for mother to have someone to connect with. I don't think we make much sense to her."

"Or to father,” Wilber agreed. “He never does anything with us. Sometimes I think he’d rather we weren’t around…" He looked at his feet, pausing in the road.

Wilson sighed to himself. "This could create severe psychological ramifications for us, when we're older and have children of our own."

Wilber laughed, startled, and punched Wilson playfully on the arm. "Stop it with the big words!" He was smiling again, starting to walk.”

Wilson laughed. "I'm only joking. I'm never getting married anyway."

Wilber wasn’t sure if the laugh was genuine, or covering something up. He almost sounded sad. "Why even think about it?” he asked. “We're kids! Let's try to have fun!" He smiled as they reached their house, opening the large front door to their home. Naturally their parents weren't at home, only the help and the nanny greeting them.

Wilson led the way upstairs to their rooms, scribbling furiously in his notebook as he went. Wilber followed in suit to Wilson's bedroom, locking the door behind them. Wilson's room was an absolute wreck, papers scattered everywhere and jars of what he called 'specimens' lining the shelves in his room, the books now occupying floor space.

Wilber took a good look around and laughed. "Gee, Wilson, your room gets messier every day!" He managed to make it to the bed without knocking anything over.

Wilson stopped in the center, looking around his room. He seemed almost surprised by how messy it was. "I suppose," he said. "But I know where everything is. If I move it now, I'll just get lost."

"Just pray nanny doesn't see. I think she'd fall over dead!" Wilber giggled and smiled widely at his brother.

"Oh, I've made sure to hide all the things she'd throw away," Wilson said, smiling deviously. He knelt down, fingers sliding along the floor. Slowly, a piece of floorboard came loose. Wilson had built a secret compartment for his...less conventional experiments.

Wilber climbed off the bed, looking down into the space beneath floor. He picked up a jar with some kind of fetus in it, a little shocked. "Is this a baby deer...?"

"It was," he said, frowning. "I'm not sure what happened to it, and I haven't been able to sneak into the school's lab to run tests and figure out what went wrong."

Wilber turned the jar, looking it over. "It's really sad..." he said softly, frowning. He put the jar back down, wiping his hands on his school uniform.

Wilson felt around, hand colliding with various jars and medical equipment he'd managed to nick from doctor's offices. He hissed as his finger got caught on a nail, skin ripping. He pressed his tongue against the bruise, other hand reaching in to grab the notes he'd been searching for.

Wilber stared as Wilson sucked on his finger. He looked back down, interest piqued, and picked up a really old radio. "What is this thing? It looks ancient."

"It is!" Wilson shouted, grabbing it from his brother’s hands and wiping off the dust. "It's an old radio. I found it in the woods one day. I've been meaning to fix it up – It doesn't work very well, only picks up one station."

"What kind of station? Is it a talk show? Or sport?" He reached a hand out for the device.

Wilson reluctantly let him have it back, looking away. "It's...talk shows, mainly," he sighed. "Sometimes it does news, al-although, Harry Houdini has been on a few times..." he blushed. "And some other magician, I don't remember his name."

He turned it on and listened closely, "I don't hear anything.” He grinned. “Maybe it's haunted by that one magician that went missing all those years ago!"

Wilson tried fiddling with the tuning himself, hearing nothing. "Oh, damn." Wilson took the radio back, putting it up on the dresser. Static sounded loudly, and he winced. "Sometimes it does this on its own."

He watched Wilson fiddle with the radio. "Do you remember the story?" he asked, mind still on the missing magician.

Wilson frowned, switching the radio off. "Which story?"

"About William Carter. How he went missing with his assistant, and they were never found again."

"Are you sure?" Wilson asked, sticking his thumb in his mouth and chewing on it, distracted. "I could swear...that's who talks on the radio – when it's working. He can't possibly be in two places at once."

Wilber nodded a few times, completely serious. "Nanny told me the story! She saw his last show, back when she was still in school."

Wilson shook his head. "It can't possibly be the same person. This is a young man who speaks on the radio." He sighed, slipping the radio back under the floor. "Whatever happened to them? To William Carter, and his assistant?"

Wilber shrugged. "Nanny said they just vanished. Their motor car was parked at their house and everything was still there. Nobody knows where they went or why, or what happened to them." He looked at his brother. He was starting to scare himself.

Wilson wasn’t scared, more like…intrigued. "Really?" his eyes lit up. "Do you think she'd tell me the address if I asked?" He darted about his room, throwing supplies into a backpack.

Wilber began to shake. "Y-you're kidding, r-right? We can’t go there! I-it's been abandoned for decades!”

"Don't exaggerate," Wilson huffed. "William Carter is not that old!" He seemed to be flushing.

"How would you know?" He pouted. "Nanny is really old, and she saw him as a child. He was twenty-five when he disappeared. How old would that make him now?" Wilson could feel his cheeks burning, but he wasn't interested in explaining. He certainly didn't _sound_ like an old man over the radio, and it's not as though time could just stop because a man went missing. "I don't even understand why you like magicians so much," Wilber grumbled. He moved to the door, looking back. "I’m going to get Winona to find those petals for you while you talk to Nanny."

Wilson filled his pack with things he might need, lining the bottom with a blanket just in case he got lost and had to curl up somewhere for the night. He knew it wasn't wise, but he frequently went out to explore the forest, even without Wilber. Their parents never scolded him, but then they also rarely noticed he was missing. He looked back at the radio, chewing on his lip, debating with himself on whether or not to take it with him.

There was faint static over the radio. Then, a voice called out, softly. "Hello...? Can... anyon-.. -ere me?"

Wilson almost shouted, covering his mouth quickly with his hand. He turned toward the radio. "H-hello?" he called.

"O-oh finally! -omeone... an-ered! Tha.. God." It was a familiar voice… William Carter’s?

Wilson stood next to the dresser, heart beating in his throat, fingers digging into the wood. "I d-don't understand, how can you hear me?" Wilson licked his lips, carefully taking the radio in his hands. "M-Mr. Carter, is that you? Wh-where are you?"

"Im not -ure. It's dark here. And I -an' t move. Wh-What's your -ame?" His voice held such fear, trembling as he spoke.

"I'm Wilson," he felt a little...embarrassed, even though no one else was around. _What if this is another hallucination?_ he wondered. He closed his eyes tightly. If it was a hallucination, it would stop when he concentrated hard enough.

“Wilson?" The voice tried to laugh softly. "What a nice name f- a lad." He sounded almost like he was in tears, in some sort of agony.

"Not a hallucination, then," he whispered to himself. "Wh-what happened to you? A-and your assistant?"

"Charlie.. she- ....gone. I dont know." There was a pause as Wilson breathed shallowly, afraid. "I.. dont know where I am..."

He sounded so scared. Wilson was vibrating with a nervous energy. He wanted to go and find him. "Wh-what was the last thing you remember?"

"My... my magi- -ow... The theatre was full packed to the brim. We had a -oulnteer. A young girl -amed... Diana... Diana Nan."

Wilson gasped. That was the name of their nanny.

Wilson checked behind him, making sure the door was closed. He backtracked, locking it. "Go on," he said softly.

The radio static grew louder, then calmed. "Charlie and I went -ome and we wanted to look -t the book we found. And I woke uo -ere."

“What kind of book?" Wilson asked. It felt urgent. "Did nan- Diana bring it to you?"

"N....o. we found it on our trip to America. Charlie is gone and.... Wilson... h-... -ld are you?"

He swallowed hard, his stomach hurting. He couldn't imagine being in such a terrifying position. "I'm ten," he said. "B-but I'll be eleven soon!"

"Ten.." he gave a soft chuckle. "Y-you’re so young…" The signal began to cut out. "Wi...son? C...-re -e?" It was breaking up.

"Wh-what?" Wilson began messing with the tuning, trying desperately to hear him. "I can't - I can't understand you!"

The signal started fading in and out, dying finally after two last crystal clear words were spoken. "Help me."

Wilson wasn't sure where to start. He shoved the radio into his pack, keeping the volume on faintly in case the voice came back. He tied a tight knot, rushing out the door, trying to avoid the nanny.

The elderly woman caught Wilson running through the house and called to him. "Percival! Come here, please."

Wilson froze. _Oh, no, what does she want?_ he wondered. She was one of the last people to see William Carter and his assistant Charlie before they disappeared...

He slipped his pack off, hiding it behind a full coatrack. He slipped into the kitchen, holding his breath.

The woman smiled at him. "Dear, would you mind climbing up on the counter and fetching me that bowl? My old bones cannot move like they used to."

Wilson swallowed, nodding. He pulled himself up on the counter, climbing up to the top of the counter and reaching for the heavy porcelain bowl. He handed it to her.

She set the bowl on the counter then helped him down. "Thank you kindly, Wilson..." She smiled, "I’m making my special brownies that you boys love so much. Run along and play, but be back by dark."

Wilson nodded, breathing more easily now. _Nanny's the only one who cares if we come back or not_ , he thought bitterly. He ran out the door, nearly running into his brother on the way.

Wilber stumbled as he nearly collided with his brother. In his hands he held many dark petals.

"Oh!" Wilson said, chewing on his pointer finger. "Oh, good," he turned, opening his pack. "Let's get them in and go!" he said.

Wilber dumped the petals in the bag. “Wilson,” he said, chewing on his lips, “I-I’m scared."

Wilson stopped chewing on his digits for a moment. "You don't have to come," he looked out into the forest, and thought about it. How was he going to explain the radio? Would Wilber even believe him? "On second thought, you probably shouldn't. You have homework to finish, after all. I'll try to be back before dinner," he promised, running off.

Wilber shook hard, looking between his brother and the house, trying to make a decision. The young boy ran after his brother. "Wait for me!"

Wilson smirked. Wilber might have been scared, but he never could resist adventure either way. He stopped just long enough for his brother to catch up, leading the way out into the forest. "We can't be gone too long," he said.

Wilber nodded as he walked alongside his brother. "Let's not get brought home by the fuzz again this time."

“The fuzz?" Wilson snorted with laugher. "Are you hoping move to America and join the mafia one day?"

Wilber blushed hard and looked away. "Yeah. I'll fly to America and join one of those gangs."

“And will Winona be going with you?" Wilson teased.

He pouted and blushed harder, "I don't like Winona! She's just my friend... she loves her dumb horse more than anything else."

"It is a very beautiful horse," Wilson said. "And fast. She could win shows." He looked at his brother and rolled his eyes.

"It's stupid. I hate horses. She doesn't ever want to play with me," he pouted.

Wilson wasn't really sure what to tell him. He'd never had problems talking to Winona before. "Maybe you're just going about it wrong?" he suggested.

He shrugged, still angry. "I don't care. If she wants to play with an animal, then whatever."

Wilson rolled his eyes, sighing in irritation. His brother could be so petulant sometimes, and Wilson didn't have the time to deal with his moods and emotions. He heard the radio static start up the farther they walked in the woods and he stopped to pull the radio out of his bag.

Wilber raised his eyebrows, confused. "Why did you bring the radio?"

"Uh –“ Oh, right. He hadn't told Wilber about that. "N-no reason," he said, even as he held it out, trying to determine where the sound was loudest.

The static broke and a voice could almost he heard over it. Except it wasn't a voice…it was _screaming_. Loud, agonizing wails.

Wilson dropped the radio, covering his ears. "Dammit!" The small contraption broke on impact. "Wh-what?" The noise had stopped. The radio was in pieces. "Oh, no!" Wilson tried picking up the pieces as they started to scatter in the wind.

Wilber was against a tree, panting. "What was that?!" He looked at his brother. Wilson seemed frantic, splinters gathering in his fingers and tears of frustration stinging his eyes.

"He needed my help! I have to find him!" he said, voice manic.

Wilber was already confused, and he was starting to get scared at his brother’s behavior. "Who? W-Wilson you're not making sense!" He grabbed his brother's wrists, looking at the splinters. "You're hurting yourself!"

"It doesn't matter!" he tore his wrists away, wincing. He felt bad for snapping, but all the same... "I-I heard him," he said, letting his brother pick the splinters out. "William Carter. H-he was talking to me th-through the radio."

"If he was still alive, he'd be dead..." Wilber trailed off. He carefully picked out the splinters.

“I know it sounds strange," Wilson said, voice soft. "But- but he sounds like he just got to..." he frowned. "Wh-wherever he is. He's lost, and h-he can't find his assistant."

Wilber thought about it, silent for a moment. "Maybe we can find another radio?" He wrapped his brother's hands with bandages from the bag.

Wilson looked at his hands, a mess from splinters and chewing on his fingers. "It's just so strange," he said, mind obsessed. "How could he possibly still sound like a young man? If he is still alive, he'd be..." he frowned, trying to do the calculations in his head. How long ago had it been? If it was 1900 now...

"And Nanny is over 60," Wilber pointed out. "He was 25 when she was a teenager."

Wilson shook his head. "It just doesn't make any sense." He looked around them, confused. "Wait...Wilber, where are we? This doesn't look like the forest anymore."

He looked around then moved close to Wilson. He was right. "What...?” he gasped, confused. “I... don't know..."

"Uhm –“ Wilson started chewing on his fingers again, unable to help himself in the anxiety. "Just- Just stay here, okay? Don't move. I'm going to see if I can find the exit, and then I'll come back." He fished around in his backpack, taking out a lighter and lantern. "Stay here," he said again.

Wilber gripped his shirt. "N-no! Don't leave me here, please!"

"Look," Wilson spun around, eyes wide and terrified. "It isn't safe. I don't want you getting hurt. I won't be gone for very long, but I need you to stay here. If you need me to come back...set something on fire."

He held the lighter in his hand. He wasn’t pleased with the situation, but Wilson was older. Wilson knew best. "O-okay Wilson... pl-please come back soon…"

"I will," he promised, ruffling his brother's hair before setting off.

Wilber sat down on the ground beside the shattered radio, clutching the lighter in his hands.

* * *

Wilson started in one direction, running straight the way he remembered coming, dropping petals along the way. _We can always get more_ , he figured. But when he turned and looked, he couldn't see them anymore. A breeze was blowing in, probably knocking them all away.

Wilson could wear twigs snapping and the sound of...something big. He turned, paranoid. Was something following him?

Something was indeed trailing behind him, and it was massive. Large, bulky, with red eyes. It looked like a beaver, the size of a cow. It got up close to Wilson, and roared loudly.

Wilson turned again, coming face-to-face with the monster. Unable to help himself, he shouted, dropping the torch he'd made up for himself and running as fast as he could. The beast stomped on the fire, charging after Wilson, bellowing ferociously. Wilson panted as he ran, weaving through the trees, diving into the first hole that he found to try and get away from the approaching monster

The beast sniffed around the place where Wilson was hiding. It snarled and began to gnaw a whole tree in half. It fell, almost blocking Wilson's exit.

* * *

Wilber was sitting in the dark, shaking horribly. He was terrified of the dark. He curled up on the muddy ground, sobbing hard, afraid his brother wouldn’t be able to meet him again, when he heard feet pattering, as if running in place. Then a _whoosh_ ing sound of some sort. Someone was trying to get his attention.

He sat up quickly and lit the lighter, his body trembling harder. A small boy, not much older than him, waved his hand emphatically, trying to indicate something with hand motions. His face was stark white.

"I-I can’t understand you..." he managed to say. The other boy just made more gestures, seeming frustrated. "I h-have to wait for my brother..."

The boy frowned, waving his hands harder. He ran them up and down his arms, indicating he was cold, then clapped them together.

"Oh, um…" Wilber gathered a mess of sticks and dry leaves then lit it. Soon there was a small fire.

* * *

 Soon Wilson could see the beast collapse... and change. There lay a boy not much older than him. He had ginger-colored hair and strong muscles. He sat up with a harsh cough, rubbing his head. He looked like he was about thirteen.

Wilson waited a couple seconds, watching the other boy and wondering if it was safe. He pulled himself up out of the hole, staring at his newfound companion.

The other boy held his side, leaning on a tree. "Sh-shit!"

Wilson piled some twigs together, tying them with a bit of loose grass. With some pieces of flint, he set it alight. "Are you alright?" he called, approaching cautiously.

“Y-Yeah...” He stumbled, coming closer to Wilson. “Are you?" He collapsed near where Wilson stood, holding his wounded side.

“I've been better," Wilson said, still wary. He wasn't sure of a polite way to broach the subject of the other boy's condition, so he asked, "How often does that happen?"

"Not often,” he responded with a grimace. “Although it's getting worse. I’m sorry I chased you." He was panting softly now. He held a hand out for Wilson to shake. "I’m – I’m Woodie," he said.

Wilson sat on the ground, accepting his hand. He pulled his knees up to his chin, pulling out a notebook. "I suppose it's understandable," he mused, writing in his notebook. "I'm Wilson, by the way."

Woodie looked around, distracted as well. "Say um... have you seen a small boy running around? White face paint, doesn’t speak?" He sighed. He seemed frustrated with himself, massaging his forehead. "I changed and it scared him off from our camp. Wes must be scared out of his wits," he mumbled to himself.

"White face and doesn't speak?” Wilson shook his head, repressing the urge to laugh. “Dear lord, if you'd given him a striped shirt and a distinctly French name, I'd have guessed you were looking for a mime."

* * *

Wilber wrapped a blanket around himself and Wes. "Here… We can keep warm like this..."

Wes shivered, scooting closer to Wilber. His teeth were chattering audibly, even after he pressed one gloved hand against his lips.

"A-are you hungry?" Wilber asked. He took out a bag of seeds from home, offering some to Wes.

* * *

 Woodie gave a chuckle. "Yeah, well, Wes wants to be a mime, and he does wear a striped shirt. He's a great little shit," he mused.

Wilson nodded, still writing in his notebook. He looked at Woodie over the corner of his eye. "You seem awfully fond of him," he commented.

"That’s because I am,” he replied. “Although he is a bit younger than me.”

"Is he family?" Wilson asked, thinking about Wilber. _He must be so scared_ , Wilson thought, chewing on his lip. _But I don't know which way I came_.

Woodie laughed a bit, louder than last time. "What? If I was related to Wes, I think my family would kick him to the curb. No..." he sighed, "I love that silent little weirdo. And he's lost out there."

Wilson chewed on the inside of his cheek, not sure if Woodie meant what he _thought_ he meant, as he'd been told that it A, wasn't common and B, was something to suppress, to never tell anyone. "Maybe he'll find my brother," Wilson commented, although it honestly didn't seem likely.

"Maybe,” Woodie replied with a shrug. “If I can find my axe, we may be able to find them both."

"I could always make another axe," Wilson offered, flipping through the blueprints he'd drawn up in his notebook. "It shouldn't be too difficult."

"I have my own axe.” Woodie sounded defensive somehow. He must have realized how strange it sounded, as he lightened up. “Her name is Lucy."

Wilson was silent for a bit, before asking, “So where did you come from?”

"Up north,” Woodie responded. “I know this forest like the back of my hand, as well as every tree in it."

“Oh, really?" Wilson asked. "Do you think you could help me find my way out?"

Woodie smiled crookedly. "Yeah, I believe I could. I do live out here. But we'll have to wait till morning. It's dangerous out here." He nodded, agreeing, looking out into the forest. He wrapped his arms around his knees, wondering how his brother was doing out there on his own. "I hope we can find your brother and Wes,” Woodie continued. “And we should be able to, as long as Wes goes to the spot I showed him yesterday."

"Where were you trying to head to?" Wilson asked, curiously. He wrapped together a couple of twigs, making up a torch to hand to Woodie. It seemed as good a time as any to head out.

Woodie shook his head. “Nowhere in particular. Wes and I were just on a walk when I changed...” He trailed off, casting the flame all around them to get a better idea of their surroundings.

"Do your parents know you left?" Wilson asked, looking at the sky. It had gotten awfully dark.

Woodie scoffed, shaking his head. "Tch. My folks don't care about me. Wes' parents left him out on his own, so he lives with me now. We have a camp set up, that’s where we live.”

"How awful," Wilson commented. He compiled a torch for himself, eyes scanning the ground for the ax Woodie had mentioned. "That must be difficult."

Woodie didn’t respond, eyes caught by something. He ran quickly toward a tree, climbing it with skill. He pulled a red axe from high in the tree, smiling victoriously. He peered out along the trees, shouting down, "Hey Wilson, I see smoke!"

"Oh, that must be -" Wilson gasped a little. His torch had suddenly gone out. He dropped to his knees, hands searching the ground for his pack. Something sharp pierced his skin and he yelped.

Woodie climbed down quickly, axe in hand, and slammed the blade of the weapon against a rock, sparking enough for Wilson to see.

Wilson turned his head sharply, looking for whatever bit him. "What was that?" He asked, voice trembling.

Wilson moved around to protect Wilson, ready to defend him as he searched for his things. "Dark things lurk here, lad,” he replied.

"Dark things?" In his head he heard screaming, the same screaming the radio let out before he dropped it. "What do you mean?"

"Not sure,” he responded with a shrug. “Some sort of darkness –“ Woodie swung at something that screeched as the axe made contact. "Fell beasts!" he shouted.

Wilson's hands trembled as shadows whipped around him. He tried furiously to light another fire. The shadows continued to wrap around Wilson. He could hear a voice whispering to him, _I’m sorry_.

Woodie got down beside him quickly, lighting the fire easily. He stood with the torch in hand.

The shadows hissed and uncoiled, retreating back into the darkness. "What was that?" Wilson asked again, voice shaking.

"Fowl beasts in the dark,” Woodie growled. “As long as those boys have light, they're safe, but we need to hurry to find them."

"We'll have to hurry then," Wilson said.

* * *

 

Wilber put more twigs on the small fire, keeping close to Wes. He knew it was pointless, but still. "Why did you come out here?" he asked, looking at his companion.

Wes never got a chance to mine an answer out. Wilber heard a scream and turned his head, shivering. "Th-that sounds like my brother," he said.

Wes looked to Wilber, then looked when he heard the sound of metal on stone. He clenched his fists then looked on in worry.

Wilber caught the small movement, and raised his eyebrows. "You recognized that. What is it?"

He stood and swung his arms like a lumberjack.

"A friend of yours?" Wilber asked. "We should go and find them! Maybe they can help us!"

Wes shook his head quickly then pointed to the tree. It had claw marks on it and he sat back down.

Wilber frowned. "You think your friend is...being chased? O-or," he shuddered, "Or been hurt?"

Wes shook his head again, then nuzzled against Wilber for warmth. He pointed at the ground then patted it.

“I-I don't understand," Wilber confessed. He blushed, irritated and confused. _Why won’t he just speak?_

Wes sighed audibly, then pat the ground again.

Wilber was starting to get angry. "What is it? Is he tracking that thing?"

He shook his head again then stood, mimicking like he clawed it "Okay," Wilber huffed, trying to keep his patience. "This beast...?"

He nodded then swung like the lumberjack again. "...And your friend?"

He put his hands together, fingers interlocking. Wilber sighed. "I can't possibly be interpreting this correctly, but you're making it hard," he rubbed his temples in frustration. "Don't laugh, but... Your friend and the beast...are one?"

He nodded quickly with a big smile.

Wilber's eyes widened. "That's – th-that's impossible!" He keep nodding and sat down Wilber gave him a strange stare. "That...that really can't be. That's impossible!" He shook his head yes more, and began to shake from the cold.

Wilber frowned, pulling the blanket tighter around them both. "None of this is making any sense," he mumbled to himself. "I h-hope Wilson is okay..."

Wes nuzzled against Wilber, shaking hard, scared and cold, just like Wilber. 

* * *

 

On the other side of the forest, Wilson huddled close to the fire, warming his hands against it. He was still shaking, shook up from the shadows chasing after him. "I hope my brother and your friend are okay," he said.

Woodie sat close to Wilson. "Yeah, me too. Wes can't make a sound, so I'm especially worried for him.”

"What made him want to be a mime?" Wilson asked, threading flowers together to keep his mind off the cold and the dark.

"He's mute,” Woodie said flatly. As if it should have been obvious. “Wes can't say anything. He's awful at trying to act things out, though."

"Not very good for a mime," Wilson said. "Perhaps he could try sign language, although I assume the two of you communicate just fine."

"I guess we do, usually," he sighed.

They were silent for a few moments. Then, awkwardly, Wilson spoke up. "How long do the nights usually last here?"

“Too long,” Woodie responded. He sighed. “We need more wood." He took up the torch, holding his axe tight. "I'll be back.”

Wilson nodded, pulling his pack close to him. He pulled some seeds and berries from the front pocket, roasting them over the fire.

As he walked off, Woodie mumbled, "I know I shouldn't, but I have to, Lucy."

"Who was that?” a voice in Woodie’s head asked. “Why are we talking to him?"

"Wilson needs my help, or he dies,” Woodie said defensively. “It’s my fault he's lost."

"And what about Wes?" Lucy asked.

"I’ll have to find him in the morning." He began to cut down a tree.

“Don't chop too quickly. You know what happened last time,” she reminded.

"I know, Lucy," He muttered and gripped the axe tighter as he chopped.

"Let's hope Wes isn't too frightened of you now," she continued.

"He already knew." The tree fell to the ground. Woodie began to chop it into logs. His brow began to sweat and he gnawed at his lip.

"Then why did he run?"

"Because it's just something we both have to deal with, in our own way," he replied, agitated. He tied the logs with grass woven rope then hauled them onto his back.

Lucy hummed pensively, then went still. "What is it?" Woodie asked, walking back toward the fire.

"Something feels different," she said softly. "Do you hear that music?"

"Music?" He listened closely. Something like a ragtime song was playing. He could hear the sound of cogs were working in the distance. Unable to help himself, Woodie began to walk towards the music.

“Wait!" Lucy shouted. "Woodie, no! This doesn't feel right!"

"I want to know what that is..." Woodie muttered. He seemed almost in a trance.

In the center there was a clearing, an opening circled by dark, ominous flowers and evergreens. A door sat, beckoning Woodie closer.

He kept walking, "a door?" The music got louder as he approached, the door seeming to open and activate on its own. He looked back then called for Wilson. Woodie knelt down and picked up an old radio by the door.

"H-hel- m--e" something asked through the static. Two large hands of shadow reached out from the ground, dragging Woodie down.

He screamed aloud as he was dragged to the ground. "WILSON!!!!"

Wilson started, jumping up. He ran toward the noise, panting, as something nipped at his heels. The wind kept snapping at him, threatening to take out the torch. His heart and head hurt, he was so out of breath –

Woodie gripped at the dirt as Wilson drew nearer. "Help me!" he screamed. The radio was right in front of his hands. The exact same radio as the one Wilson had dropped earlier that night.

It was the same night, right?

Wilson reached out, gripping Woodie's hands and pulling desperately. The radio was screaming again. Wilson felt his head was splitting open.

Woodie held onto Wilson tightly. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, using the rest of the strength he had left to bark orders. "Find them, and keep in the light!"

Wilson watched Woodie slip from his hands, all the items he'd been holding onto (save for his precious axe) spilling out as he was dragged under. Wilson let out a short shout, quickly picking up the light and holding it out, hoping to keep the darkness at bay. Woodie cried out as he was dragged underground. The radio fell silent.

Wilson picked up the radio carefully, staring at it. A few seconds later, and he could hear Woodie's voice. "H-hello?"

Wilson turned up the volume. _That's weird – this is how I spoke with Mr. Carter earlier. It's just a hypothesis, but –_  "Woodie? How are you speaking to me now?"

"I-I’m in a dark room... I hear the music...” he could hear the other boy shivering, teeth chattering over the radio. “W-Wilson, I’m scared...."

"How did you –“ Wilson began, but he froze. There was something out there. He heard howling, and screaming.

“Wilson,” Woodie spoke urgently. “There's someone here. I-I’m going to see who it is..."

Wilson swallowed, nodding at the radio. "Alright. I – I need to get going," he whispered. "Please, be careful."

“However you're talking,” Woodie continued, “Keep it with you. Find your brother, and Wes…please… for me… "

Wilson wasn't sure he wanted to keep the radio with him anymore – it seemed like bad luck, or bad karma, but he didn't want to leave Woodie all alone. He shoved it into his backpack, running in the direction of the smoke Woodie claimed he saw earlier.

Woodie kept walking and soon arrived at the nightmare throne. He shook hard and gripped his axe. "Sir...? Are you...okay?" He asked. The man before him was on his knees, picking up the broken circle frame glasses off the floor.

"Please…" He sounded...sad, tired, exhausted. Scared, somehow. "Please, will you turn that damned thing off?"

Woodie looked to the gramophone, leaning over to turn it off. "Who are you?"


End file.
